This is a short winter story about... no, not love, but about ordinary passion." “You’re drunk again, Chuchundra. And what should we do with you?” “Put it on!” she angrily demanded. They impudently vulgarized me: “Cancer?” Right here? And you’re brave. But still, let’s go home..." "... And finally, tell me what your name is. He stood up and gave me his hand. Today it was warm, although the frost hit me and bit my cheeks. , and I sniffled indecently, chillily wrapping myself in a fur coat. “Batman, we already decided that. I don’t know what he decided, but I wanted to scream his name in bed, not Batman.”